I frequently attend high school dances. I know. What? Why?! Oh you know, just work stuff. While I’m not technically a chaperone, I kind of feel like one. And sometimes get called Mrs. [insert my last name here]. Then I freak out a little inside because hello, I am still MISS so let’s not jump the gun. Since I had the pleasure of attending not one but two this weekend, here are some thoughts I jotted down on the state of America’s youth.
Are Nike running shorts a fashion statement? I didn’t get the memo.
The beginnings of dances are always awkward. They’re all scattered around the edges of the room in little groups. But wait, there’s hope. Some confident girls are making their way to the middle, half-jokingly shaking it. It’s all downhill from here…
30 Minutes later
Watching a girl bent over moving against a guy who is holding her hips and basically dry humping her. No not basically, actually. Oh dear god , I feel like a perve. Make. It. Stop. Please tell me I didn’t do that. I totally did.
This is happening literally 20 feet from a girl holding a life-size plastic baby doll. She finishes “burping” it, puts it back in its car seat (yes, a real car seat), and heads back out to the dance floor to get her grind on. Effective home economics, right there. Do they still even teach home ec?
Damn my feet hurt. Thank god wearing gel inserts in my shoes.
YES, Cotten Eyed Joe came on. Something to break up all the dry humping. It looks so fun. I wonder if there is a tutorial on YouTube.
Is there a grosser smell than sweaty teenagers? I think not. Oh wait, it’s sweaty teenagers who doused themselves in a pound of Abercrombie cologne before leaving the house.
All these girls have super long, thick hair. I feel bald.
The music is too loud. I’ll need hearing aids by 35, I just know it.
Kids that just walked by: “god, I hate everybody”. I feel you, kid. If you need a good “it gets better” talk, let me know.
Fellow chaperones: It’s not the jeans that are giving you the mom jeans look. It’s the fact that you are wearing sneakers with them. *looks down at sneakers, is also wearing them with jeans* SHIT. Whatever, if Taylor Swift can wear Keds, so can I.
There are way more songs that have dances that go with them then I remember. Must learn how to “wobble” and “wop”.
Don’t Stop Believin’ just came on. Oh THANK GOD, they all know the words too. There’s hope!
These girls sure get creative with where they put their iPhones while dancing. Tucked into the waistband of their leggings? Better than in their cleavage. I call that a win.
Is it me or is there something weirdly sexual about the limbo? The girl who won just defied gravity and, I’m fairly sure, made every guy in the room raise his eyebrows. Weird…ew…stop thinking about it.
It’s raining really hard outside. I hope they all get home okay. <– Mom thoughts
You know, when I think about it, they’re doing all the same stuff I did in high school. They are figuring out who they are. It’s awkward and sad and scary and beautiful, all at once. My hats off to America’s high school teachers. I don’t know how you do it.
In honor of these quirky kids, here’s one of their favorites. You can get your grind on with your desk chair at work. Happy Monday.